As Long As You Are Mine
by Kaikouken
Summary: The first days after the fall are the hardest: Hannibal won't wake up and Will isn't sure if he's dreaming, dead or delirious. Spoilers for 3x13
The cold, dark Atlantic swallowed them up instantaneously once they left the cliff, and when Will broke to the surface, his face grew hot under the powerful beam of light coming from a motorboat. Hannibal was still hanging onto him, limp and unresponsive, but a steady heartbeat against Will's chest, so he didn't pay heed to any dark thoughts. He caught Chiyoh's impassive gaze, her gun cocked at them in contemplation and something seemed to come undone inside his stomach. He let go.

"I'm sorry I'm not as good as him," Chiyoh whispered in a soft voice, placing a cool rag on his forehead as Will's consciousness swam back to reality. He blinked wearily and turned his head, Hannibal's prone body coming into sharp focus as his brain adjusted to the lights, colours and the sound of his surroundings.

"What – " he began and cleared his throat. "He is?"

"The bullet did not kill him," Chiyoh explained as a matter of fact. "You did. Well, almost."

Despite himself, Will found himself letting out a sharp, shocked laugh. "That was the plan, yeah."

Chiyoh's fingers stilled on his brow momentarily, hovering unsure over his head wondering whether she should just push her thumbs into Will's eyes and gouge them out or not. Will found that he didn't particularly care _either_ way. He wasn't supposed to be here. None of them should have been.

He did not realise it when his eyes drifted close and he was rocked gently by the waves of the ocean to a deep sleep.

Hannibal held him close, as he was often wont to do – tenderly, carefully, as if Will would shatter the moment he let go. Will felt his shirt steadily get wetter and the sharp metallic taste of blood was upon his lips. They had been in this moment so many times that Will could never really tell exactly who it was that was bleeding, and which one of them was the cause of it. Will placed his hand around Hannibal's shoulders and pulled him tighter, breathing in deeply Hannibal's scent. But all he could smell was the blood.

"You wanted me dead," Hannibal said into Will's ear, hot breath tickling the sensitive skin there. "Because you could not see another way to separate the two of us."

Will had no answer for that, so he pushed himself harder against Hannibal's body even as it began to melt and seep through his hand as if he was trying to hold sand or water. A scream caught its way up his throat and the name died on his lips.

And then he was in freefall.

"Eat," Chiyoh instructed solemnly. She was holding out a bowl of soup, murky and unappealing, but he accepted it anyway. It tasted a bit like chicken and he welcomed the warmth. He ate slowly as his entire face was stiff and painful, the flashes of the knife wound still fresh in his mind. Chiyoh wasn't wrong when she claimed to be not as good at this. When she had shot him, Hannibal had patched him back together so well that he barely ever felt that he'd been injured in the first place.

"Has he...?" he gestured vaguely in the direction where Hannibal lay and the cold hard gaze that he received was the only answer she would give.

The soup burned through his sore cheek and leaked out of his mouth, wetting his clothes and the bed. She took the bowl from him and disappeared from the cabin, leaving him alone. He was no longer hungry anyway. He wiped his mouth gingerly, and then he got up from his bed and approached Hannibal's.

His body was so still that Will could have mistaken him for a corpse. Maybe he was already was and it was only Chiyoh's stubbornness that was keeping her from tossing it to the sea. But then that wouldn't be a fitting end to Hannibal's body – it would have been better to cook him and eat him, piece by piece, meal by meal, until they both had enough of him inside their bodies.

Will reached out and took Hannibal's distressingly cold hand between his palms and closed his eyes. This was not the end he had desired. Not even in a million years did he want to end up like this, with Hannibal's cold, lifeless hand clasped in his and his heart betraying him every single second of the way.

"Will," Hannibal seemed to say. "Don't worry about me."

He wouldn't if he could. If only.

Hannibal's hands were smooth, not even a trace of a callus on those fingers, as they skimmed over his face. "This will leave a scar," he mused, mostly to himself. Will bristled under his touch and tried to pull away, but Hannibal did not give an inch.

"It's the testament to our consummation. The indelible mark I have left on you. Don't hide it, Will, I think it's beautiful."

Will's gaze fell down to Hannibal's navel where there was angry scarring he himself had acquired. At least he wasn't alone anymore. He had marked Hannibal as well, just as Hannibal always did to him.

"Are you happy about this?" Hannibal asked, pushing his fingers into Will's hair. He pulled Will's face closer until their noses could touch, but not quite.

"Yes," Will admitted and closed the rest of the distance. Hannibal's lips weren't as cold as he'd imagined: they were warm, soft and pliant, and most of all, breath stirred between them like the fluttery wings of hope that lived within Will's chest.

"He would be too," Chiyoh told him, his hair fisted in her fingers, colder than steel and she pulled him off Hannibal. Will went with her, stumbling and collapsed on his own bed. His face throbbed with an intensity that he was quickly getting familiar with and the only thing that drowned the clamour of pain within his mind was the _thud-thud-thud_ of Hannibal's heartbeat he'd felt beneath his palm.

That alone had felt truer than the last few years of his life, when all was said and done.

"Won't you come with me, Will?" Hannibal insisted one day. He was sitting on the opposite bunk, clad in soft pyjamas and his face looked less pale, less creased and yet not slack anymore.

"I cannot go where you are," he answered in a halting voice and clenched the sheets beneath his hands.

Hannibal held out his hand and smiled: a rare one that make the edges of his eyes crinkle and transformed him entirely. "You only have to _try_."

Will shook his head, curling up on himself and resting his face on his elbows. He _had_ tried, tried so desperately and yet here he was, left alone fumbling in the dark once again and Hannibal out of his reach, remote and untouchable. Even when he had been in prison, it had been the same and nothing had changed.

He was half tempted to piss Chiyoh off enough that she would put that damn bullet between his skull as she had often longed for.

And Will longed with her.

The stag stalked him no more. He had pushed it off the cliff, just as Hannibal had gutted it along with him and Abigail. It wasn't coming back. He had no more need of it. He pushed his fingers into Hannibal's fine, soft hair and brushed it carefully, untangling and combing it as well as he could. He was beginning to forget what his voice sounded like, what expressions his face was able to go through when Will said something that sparked his interest. He could no longer remember these things. The harder he tried, the more he failed.

"We need to get him to a doctor," he said out loud and continued brushing Hannibal's hair, if a little more indulgent than before.

"Once we see land, we will."

"It might be too late by then already," Will raised his voice then, feeling it crack and crumble around him. The silence was killing him more than anything else ever had tried and failed or succeeded.

Chiyoh crossed her arms and gave him an unimpressed look. "That is well within my calculations. But isn't that the desired outcome for you?"

Will placed his face in his hands and groaned softly. "You and I both know that that isn't true."

"Do you want me to throw you into the ocean if it happens?" Chiyoh asked eventually, letting her hands loose and her posture relaxed. Will glanced at her and his mouth tightened into a firm line. It elicited a smile out of _her_ and she nodded and walked out of the cabin, leaving Will feel lighter than he had in a long while.

It had been the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him in a long time and Will intended to savour the moment as long as it lasted.

A loud thump woke him up and he found himself staring at Chiyoh dragging Hannibal's body off the bed and on to the floor. She held him up by his armpits and his head lolled dangerously to the side. He looked _dead_. Panic sunk sharp claws into Will's chest and drained all oxygen from his lungs. He scrambled off the bed and stood up unsteadily.

Chiyoh raised her head and her eyes brightened. She placed a gloved finger on her lips and bent her head. "Help me," she implored and pointed at Hannibal.

Will staggered forward and stopped in front of Hannibal and Chiyoh. His face felt cold despite the warmth of the room and his skin tingled as if his life was leaking from it, leaving him empty in its wake. He tried to speak, but no words would come to him now. The horrible, cold silence stretched all around him and when he blinked, Chiyoh had resumed her attempts to pull Hannibal out of the room. He crawled after her, on his hands and knees, degraded and broken, but nothing seemed to stop her.

She'd pulled them both outside and she was now hoisting Hannibal up, twisting a rope around his neck. Hannibal dangled from it in a parody of punishment – the dead cannot be punished – and the cool wind obscured her expression by pushing her hair into her face. Will could not tell what she was thinking. He could hardly understand what _he_ was thinking.

Chiyoh pulled on the rope until Hannibal was hanging above the roiling ocean and then in one swift movement, she cut the rope. A splash and Hannibal was gone. Will's fingers could only claw at the air. He scrambled forward, making a sound not unlike a dying animal and then he went over too, chasing after the phantoms that refused to leave him alone even after death.

He waited the cool water to swallow him up, but it never came. He opened his eyes and found that someone had grabbed his collar, pulled him back before he could tumble over. He turned around, coming face to face with his saviour, but for the life of him, he couldn't identify them. Hot tears blurred his eyes so much that even the face in front of him became distorted and distant.

"Will," a soft, velvety voice caressed him and he opened his eyes, finding himself looking into the vermillion eyes of Hannibal Lecter. They weren't _actually_ red – it was just that light or rather, the shadows always played tricks on them when it fell from a certain angle.

Will swallowed bile, pushing it down his throat and tried to sit up, but firm and warm hands held him down. Worry lined Hannibal's face worse than the long convalescence did. He had lost weight and he seemed to have gained more years on his face, but it was achingly familiar.

"I'm here," Hannibal told him and picked him, holding him close until Will was nestled into Hannibal's embrace. "Don't worry."

Will closed his eyes and believed him.

The next morning, he found himself in Hannibal's cot with Hannibal's limbs twisted around him. He was breathing, certainly, and he seemed painfully real. Will couldn't resist the urge to reach up and touch his face, even if it woke him up. And it did, and Will was sorry for it, if only somewhat.

"Good morning, Will," Hannibal said. He placed his hand atop Will's and leaned into his touch, quite like a cat. Will just happened to like dogs better, though.

"Is this a dream?" Will asked, voice scratchy from disuse and weakness.

"No, your fever broke last night. You did almost throw yourself off the railing. Seems like bad fevers bring back somnambulism in you."

"I thought you died," Will said instead. His body thrummed with energy and panic in equal measures and he felt like clutching to Hannibal lest he disappeared like the mist again.

"I did," Hannibal said and took Will's hand in his and squeezed it. "Possibly, in some other world, for certain. Here, though, I'm as alive as you are, though that's not as reassuring as I had hoped it to be."

Will buried his face into Hannibal's chest and shook. He remembered waking up to Abigail and he remembered losing her steadily over his journey, and he didn't think he could go through it again. Again being the cause of the death of his precious, loved ones and the knowledge sat heavily in the pit of his stomach.

"Please, be real," he begged and shook harder. Hannibal simply wrapped himself tighter around Will and held him, wordlessly, comforting and so, so, _so_ warm that Will could even bring himself to believe in it.

The Argentine nights were sultry and stifling. Will found it hard to sleep, for a multitude of reasons that did not just include the weather. On the third night, he gave it up for good and strolled outside on the sun bleached sand that glittered like stars under the moonlight. The vast ocean stretching beyond looked oily black, and a stiff breeze blew from its direction cooling the sweat on his skin. He sat on the porch of the little cabin they had and wrapped his arms around himself. Back when he was still on the boat, the sea rocked him to sleep every night. That just wasn't going to happen here.

He sat there for a long time, until the eastern sky began to look lighter with every passing minute. He stretched on the porch and tilted his head back, catching sight of Hannibal who was standing just beyond the door looking at him. Will had no idea just how long Hannibal had been there, simply content with watching Will silently. It made him a little uncomfortable and not, at the same time. He unfolded his limbs, stood up and walked back inside where Hannibal was waiting.

"Trouble sleeping?" Hannibal asked and wrapped his arm around Will's shoulders. Will looked up, not quite withdrawing and not quite leaning into the casual touch, and nodded shortly. Ever since _that_ time, Hannibal had become a lot more tactile than before and Will found that he did not mind as much as he'd expected to. He expected something more and felt so little of it in return that it baffled him.

Every time Hannibal touched him, it felt like home. A missing piece slotting back inside him and completing him a way that he did not know was lacking. The thought propelled him to turn into Hannibal's arms and place his head against Hannibal's shoulder. There was a minute shift and stiffening of muscles, before he felt Hannibal relaxing against him. Will looked up at him, questioning, and Hannibal gave him a warm smile.

"Ah, I just thought: at least there are no cliffs here for us to fall from."

Hannibal might as well have gutted him with a knife again at that moment. Will pulled away, _stung_ , and Hannibal made no moves to restrict him. He stepped back, all expression wiped from his face and replaced with a mechanical smile. One that was perfectly serviceable but painful to the one who had been privy to a real one before.

"I don't...regret that," Will said after he had managed to gather his bearings. The exhaustion was beginning to creep on him and he'd just recovered from rather debilitating injuries.

"Regret would signify that you were in two minds about a certain decision, and that is not what happened there, however."

"No," Will admitted, quiet and strained. "I never had any doubts about what I did."

"Do you?" Hannibal asked, making his way to the kitchen and starting his preparations to make a cup of coffee. "Now, I mean."

"No, well," Will hesitated and took a seat at the kitchen table. He was in Hannibal's domain and it was oddly discomfiting at times. "I don't know. I did not plan on surviving and thinking that you died while I had been left behind wasn't..."

Hannibal gave him a look that spoke volumes yet conveyed none of his internal thoughts. It made Will feel inadequate and out of his depth. He easily understood the quietly longing Hannibal behind the glass pane. This Hannibal, quiet, cold and yet gentle but not persistent, it wasn't something Will could tackle.

"The idea of living on with my blood on your hands bothered you?"

"Not precisely," Will said. He interlaced his fingers and leaned down on the table. "To go on existing in a world without you was more painful an idea than I could have imagined."

Hannibal's fingers stilled and he straightened his back, staring resolutely at the task at hand and yet not resuming. The coffee was ready now, but Hannibal was _somewhere else_ entirely. It took him a few seconds to gather himself and when he was done, he poured two cups of coffee and offered one to Will.

"Hannibal?" Will asked, taking the proffered cup, though with some trepidation. He did not think consuming caffeine while running high on insomnia was a good idea.

"To find separation so abhorrent that you would willingly choose death," Hannibal mused. "I did not think marriage would change you _this_ much."

Will slammed his cup down; the coffee sloshed out of it, staining the wooden surface below black. He could not care about the trivialities about manners and politeness and how Hannibal despised rudeness. He could _not_.

"Don't bring her up," he warned, voice low and dangerous. Hannibal did not take the hint, however.

"Was it good? To see me, after all?"

"God, Hannibal, you're one infuriating bastard," Will said and got up, and went to stand at the door of the kitchen so that he could be out of the space Hannibal claimed his own. Even though he was fully aware that no matter what, he couldn't escape it considering that parts of him were also Hannibal's belongings now.

He stared at the door in a huff and only turned to look back when the silence stretched on infinitely with nary a quip from Hannibal. He turned and noticed that Hannibal's face had acquired the same shuttered look as he had often worn as of late and it made Will's stomach twist into knots. He walked back and placed his hands on the table next to him, almost upending Hannibal's cup of coffee. He did not think Hannibal would appreciate hot coffee poured over his crotch, and well, damn, now he was thinking of Hannibal's _crotch_.

He swallowed as Hannibal looked at him, a mildly curious expression on his face and the same impassivity that Will had started to loathe. Yes, he had blindsided Hannibal and tried to kill him, but he would have preferred a coldly furious Hannibal to a quietly hurt one. He took a deep breath, cupped Hannibal's face and pushed their lips together in a clumsy and awkward kiss. It was worse than the time he'd kissed Alana back in his home, though he supposed that getting rejected here would erode his sense of self a lot more than it did with her.

Hannibal did not reject him. He kissed back after the initial shock had passed and he made a soft, needy sound in the back of his throat that sent sparks down straight to his cock. He pulled away in haste and took a shuddering breath. Sunlight was beginning to stream in through the glass windows, lighting up the kitchen and making Hannibal positively glow. It was not fair.

"It was," Will said, and clenched his fists, ready for a fight. "To see you. It was good."

"Okay," Hannibal breathed and then he was kissing him again and Will met him _head_ on.

The logistics of two men having sex wasn't something that ever occupied Will's mind for a long stretch of time, if at all. It did not concern him and it did not matter to him, and unlike some of his heterosexual peers, he did not have the inherent insecurity that if he were to so much as step in the vicinity of a gay man, his ass would catch on fire. That being said, this slow dance of seduction Hannibal danced with him had now led him to this moment. Consider: Will was in Hannibal's arms, they were kissing and one or the other of them was definitely _hard_.

He and Hannibal had been in situations that were far more intimate than mere joining of bodies, but sex was visceral in a way that lent meaning to an otherwise ambiguous connection. At times, Will wanted it to remain that way, and at times, he wanted more. He wasn't entirely sure if those were Hannibal's feelings being channelled through him, or if this was his honest desire finally surfacing.

Hannibal's tongue was in his mouth, reverently exploring and cataloguing him in turns in a way he had not been allowed before. Will, for his part, participated eagerly and with the same fervour. Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will's body a little tighter, pulling their bodies closer together and the heat between them was nigh unbearable.

This kiss broke after a few precious moments and Hannibal ducked in for a soft one again and then he pulled away completely. Will's body followed him instinctively until his mind caught up, and he stopped halfway, pulling back. He had to breathe, as difficult as the prospect was.

"Will," Hannibal's voice was breathy and had an odd lilting note to it that was not familiar to his ears. Hannibal cupped his face with his hands and stroked his cheeks, calming him almost instantaneously despite everything else. His body trusted Hannibal, his heart followed suit, and it seemed his brain had also lost that fight and raised a white flag.

Hannibal's eyes were coolly assessing him as Will gathered his bearings, and when Hannibal spoke, his voice was as composed as it could be. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"I – " Will took a deep breath. "Let's continue."

An arched eyebrow and an even smile was given to him for his efforts. "You need some food in you and then a good night's rest."

Will fisted Hannibal's pyjamas in his fists before he could be patronised any further. Hannibal did not resist or fight Will off – he seemed all right with Will manhandling him and choking him, if that was Will's end goal. That alone made Will's grip loose. He hated that Hannibal was manipulating him using his guilt, even if the hurt was more real than either of them was willing to admit.

He rested his head on Hannibal's chest, breathed in his scent and sagged, defeated. "Please," he begged, unsure what, _precisely_ , was it that he desired from Hannibal. Their shared intimacy was one such that Will did not wish to touch much less think of, and the reason was Hannibal's entire existence.

In the end, he did not know what was it that decided Hannibal, but before long he was being hauled back to bed, still trapped inside Hannibal's arms and no more protests and deflections coming his way. A warmth settled deep inside Will's gut, even as it twisted and turned in anticipation and when Hannibal pushed him down on the bed, he could do little but arch up like a cat.

Hannibal ran his thumb over Will's lips first, then bent down to trace it with his lips and tongue. He repeated that pattern over and over: tracing Will with his fingers, lips, and most importantly, his _gaze_ , memorising every curve, sinew, scar and all, committing it to his memory palace, perhaps. It was unrelentingly punishing and Will was melting, moaning and writhing by the time Hannibal was only half done.

"I want to – " Hannibal said, voice full of need and warm satisfaction at the same time and Will swallowed reflexively.

"I get that," he assured Hannibal and curled his fingers into Hannibal's hair, cupping his head and tugging him upwards. "It's just that I'm not very keen on being memorialised in your mind just yet. I'd rather if we got on to this thing." Before he lost his nerve, at any rate. Besides: "You'll have a lot more chances to do that, I'd say."

Hannibal blinked, face going utterly still, and then he gave a short nod. He unfastened Will's trousers and took him into his mouth without ceremony. If anyone could make blowjobs elegant, it had to be Hannibal Lecter, _of course_. His tongue was dexterous and clever as it licked and curled around the head of Will's cock. Will had to bite down on his fist to not make embarrassing noises – a fact Hannibal noticed pretty much right away and batted at his hand.

Hannibal swallowed him when Will made a grunt of pleasure and it was a real struggle to not just empty himself into Hannibal's warm mouth. He tugged on Hannibal's hair with urgency, and taking the hint, Hannibal pulled away. He licked at his mouth, lips a little swollen and reddened from his efforts. He looked – well, Will did not think he had a word for it yet, but he might chance upon it sometime.

Until then, he settled for ravishing and went with it. He watched, transfixed, as Hannibal spat on his fingers and then took his hand behind himself and Will's pulse quickened noticeably. His mouth was dry and his cock throbbed with an obscene amount of want.

"Hey, isn't that going to be um," he rolled his tongue over a few words, "painful?"

"It is of no consequence," Hannibal intoned and leaned over so their chests were brushing. "I want this, if you do."

"I do, oh god," Will said. His face was beginning to turn hot, a little late to the party, but there nonetheless. It made Hannibal's lips quirk and he pressed that curve to Will's mouth in a gentle and sweet kiss. It took him five or so minutes – felt like an eternity to Will – before Hannibal deemed himself ready. Will could not say if that was an adequate assessment on his part or if he was just far too eager to have Will's cock in his ass, but he wasn't about to raise too many objections _now_. If it seemed like he was hurting Hannibal – and the irony of that statement – he was going to stop right away.

Hannibal guided Will's erection into himself, swallowing him little by little, the way he must have wanted to in a more physical sense than this. Or in a more culinary sense, at any rate. Will gripped Hannibal's hips hard as he sank down on Will's cock and the weight of him is enough to make Will cry out from pleasure.

"Will," Hannibal said as if in a prayer, eyes screwed shut in pain-pleasure and mouth open. This was the picture Will was going to commit to _his_ memory palace, whether he wanted to or not – and he did want to – as it was burned forever into his retinas.

He jerked his hips up tentatively and Hannibal let out a moan. Will reached out and grabbed Hannibal's shoulder, pulling him down. "Does this hurt?" he asked in a hoarse voice, trembling a little from the restraint he was employing.

"No," Hannibal said and rocked, slowly fucking himself on Will's cock and he was considerate enough to let Hannibal set the pace. Little by little, it seemed to get easier and Hannibal started to go faster. His breaths became shorter, less controlled and accompanied with little pleased noises. And each of those noises just send jolts of pleasure up Will's spine and he began thrusting in earnest, pulling Hannibal's face to him and swallowed his cries.

Hannibal came undone first, not entirely unaided – he had his hand wrapped around himself for a while now – and he clenched rather deliciously around Will's cock, prompting his orgasm as well. Wrenching it from him, really, and Will couldn't even give a damn about that. He came with a low oath and buried his face into Hannibal's neck, now damp with sweat and far more human.

When the tides of pleasure receded and the sweat cooled on their skin, Hannibal rolled off his body and nestled comfortably next to him. There was an adoring look in his gaze and his mouth was relaxed, making him look unlike himself and it made Will smile. He had gotten into the bed with a Devil and the Devil loved him for it.

And Will loved him back. That was their ending and that was their beginning.


End file.
